In Lookism as the MOAB

The warm rays of the morning sun had lulled Lee into a half-conscious state as he dozed off on the class desk. His body, sore from yet another grueling day of pretending like he knew what he was doing, welcomed the brief respite. However, that peace didn't last long. He felt a sudden tug on his shoulder, followed by a voice that instantly got on his nerves.

"Hey, you're sitting on Jin's seat."

Lee blinked groggily, rubbing his eyes and scowling as he glanced toward the source of the voice. Standing in front of him was a blonde kid, his hair slicked back, and his face decorated with piercings that screamed delinquent. Just looking at him sparked immediate annoyance. Lee's mood soured at the audacity.

The idea that this little twerp had woken him up just because he was sitting on some imaginary reserved seat was absurd. "Tell your Jin to set his ass on some other bench," Lee growled, his temper rising.

The blonde kid's grin widened as he tilted his head slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "He said, 'Set your nasty fat ass on another broken-down bench!'"

Lee's brow furrowed. He turned his head, and to his disbelief, he had to crane his neck awkwardly to catch a glimpse of this "Jin" the boy was talking about. Standing behind him was a massive kid—a fat ten-year-old, towering over Lee like a mini-tank in a middle school uniform.

He took a deep breath, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and standing up, only to realize how much taller this "Jin" was. Even standing at his full height, he had to tilt his head up to see his face properly. Who the hell feeds kids steroids this early?

Lee's jaw dropped. "What the fuck is wrong with this world?" he thought incredulously. This kid looked like a cross between his college janitor in his previous life and a toddler who had just raided the cookie jar.

Before he could fully process the absurdity of the situation, Lee turned back to the blonde delinquent and muttered, "First of all, I didn't say anything about his ass being fat. I hate body shaming."

He then glanced back up at the towering Jin, who was standing way too close for comfort. "Second, you're standing so close I can practically feel your boobs pressing against my shoulder, dude. Personal space—ever heard of it?"

For a split second, the air between them grew tense. The blonde kid—clearly Jin's lackey—looked like he was trying not to burst out laughing, but Jin's expression remained stoic. His face was a stone wall, giving nothing away. He stood there, eyes locked onto Lee's, waiting for him to flinch or back down. But Lee wasn't about to give him that satisfaction. If anything, his annoyance was enough to steel his resolve.

The silence stretched between them, growing heavier with every passing second, until Jin finally spoke.

"You're not scared, huh?" Jin's voice, deep and gravelly, didn't match his childlike face at all. It carried a weight that made Lee's stomach twist ever so slightly.

Lee blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Scared? Dude, I'm annoyed, not scared," he shot back. "What kind of ten-year-old has a henchmen and a reserved bench, anyway?"

The blonde lackey snickered, his smirk growing wider. "This isn't just any ten-year-old. This is Jin—"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Lee interrupted, his patience running thin. "Jin, the big bad bench owner. Look, I've got better things to do than argue about furniture. You want the seat? Take it. But don't wake me up from a perfectly good nap for this crap again."

He shifted to the side, fully intending to walk away and find another spot to nap in peace. However, before he could move, Jin stepped forward, blocking his path. The kid's massive body loomed over Lee, casting a shadow over him.

"I wasn't asking," Jin growled, his tone taking on a more menacing edge.

Lee narrowed his eyes, his irritation bubbling over. This kid might have had the body of a small tank, but there was no way Lee was going to let him push him around. Jin's sheer size and the cocky smirk on his face were infuriating, but what really grated on Lee was the fact that he was being ordered around by a ten-year-old. Sure, on the outside, he looked like just another middle schooler, but inside, Lee was a grown man—a 20-year-old who had lived through more than enough to know better than to let some punk push him around.

"You really want to do this?" Lee asked, raising an eyebrow. "Over a fuckin bench?"

Jin's expression remained cold and unyielding. "I don't like people sitting in my spot."

"Right," Lee sighed, rolling his eyes. "Biggest problem of the century." He was losing patience fast.

As Doo Lee faced off against Jin, he could feel the tension crackle in the air. Jin towered over him, a mountain of muscle and fat, but Lee wasn't about to back down.

With a growl, Jin lunged, swinging a fist that seemed capable of knocking down a wall. Doo Lee ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow as he felt the wind rush past him. Jin's momentum threw him off balance, and in an instant, Lee seized the opportunity, darting to the side and landing a sharp side kick to Jin's ribs. The impact echoed through the park, and Jin staggered, eyes wide with surprise.

Not giving Jin a moment to recover, Lee dropped low as the larger boy lunged again. He swept his leg in a quick arc, knocking Jin off his feet. The big guy hit the ground hard, the thud reverberating through the ground.

Doo Lee didn't hesitate. As Jin scrambled to get back up, Lee charged forward, delivering a solid punch to Jin's gut. The wind was knocked out of Jin, and he gasped, disbelief etched across his face. Lee's speed was relentless; he followed up with a powerful uppercut that connected with Jin's jaw, sending him reeling back.

Jin tried to shake it off, but the momentum was against him. Lee grabbed his arm and executed a swift throw, flipping the heavy boy over his shoulder and slamming him onto the ground.

With Jin sprawled out, struggling to regain his bearings, Doo Lee positioned himself above him. He landed one final, decisive fist to Jin's jaw. The blow struck with a resounding crack, and Jin's eyes rolled back as he went limp, collapsing into unconsciousness.

Doo Lee stood tall, unscathed, as he caught his breath. His gaze flicked toward the blonde kid—Jin's sidekick—who stood frozen, eyes wide with shock. Cracking his knuckles, a cold smirk spread across Lee's face.

Doo Lee could feel the tension in the air spike as the ten upperclassmen piled into the room, barely squeezing through the door. The guy in the middle, with a tied-up bun and bloodshot eyes, glared at him like he'd just spat on his mother. Great. What did I do to deserve this today?

Little did Doo know, Jin wasn't just any random middle schooler—he was the little brother of an upperclassman who ran the place. This guy wasn't just a student; he was practically a local gangster, and by the looks on everyone's faces, they figured Doo Lee was finished.

Sweat started to trickle down Doo's back. Should I just apologize? He considered. But if I back down now, my whole tough guy act will fall apart. Then every kid in this school will try to push me around like I'm their bitch.

"What's up, big shot?" Doo called out, voice steady despite the nerves. "Want me to beat your ass too?"

The room fell silent, every eye now fixed on the new guy who had clearly lost his mind. Gasps filled the air. Even the blonde lackey from before stepped back in shock.

The leader, the guy with the bloodshot eyes, stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. His grin was anything but friendly. "I was really in a good mood today," he growled, his voice low and threatening, "but seeing you lay a finger on my brother? You're going to beg for death every single day you're at this school."

Doo rolled his eyes, trying to slip out of the situation before things escalated further. "Fuck off, dude."

But before he could move, the group closed in, forming a wall around him. There was no escape now.

A tall guy with a ridiculous afro stepped forward, yanking on Doo's long hair. "Look at this little twerp," he sneered, pulling hard enough to make Doo wince. "You think you're tough just 'cause you're from Central Seoul? This is Gangnam, kid. Not your moms little pu—"

Doo cut him off with a swift headbutt.

Doo's headbutt connected with Afro Guy's nose, the crunch of breaking cartilage loud enough to make everyone flinch. Blood sprayed across Doo's face as Afro staggered backward, clutching his ruined face in shock. But Doo didn't give him a second to recover. He grabbed Afro by the collar, yanking him forward, and drove his knee into the guy's gut. The air shot out of Afro's lungs in a wheezing gasp as he doubled over, clutching his stomach. Doo followed up with a savage elbow to the back of his skull, knocking him face-first into the ground. Blood pooled beneath him, and he didn't move.

Doo stood over him, breathing hard, eyes scanning the room. There were still nine left.

"Next," Doo spat, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand.

Two guys rushed him at once, fists flying. The first threw a wild punch at Doo's face, but Doo ducked under it with ease. He countered with a sharp jab to the guy's ribs, feeling the bones crack under his fist. The guy let out a scream, doubling over in pain. Doo followed up with a vicious uppercut, snapping the guy's head back. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his body crumpled to the floor.

The second one hesitated for just a moment, glancing at his fallen comrade, and that was all the opening Doo needed. He grabbed the guy by the wrist, twisting it violently. The sound of bones snapping filled the room as the guy let out a piercing scream. Without hesitation, Doo drove his elbow into the guy's shoulder, dislocating it with a sickening crunch. The guy dropped to his knees, clutching his mangled arm in agony, and Doo kicked him in the face, knocking him out cold.

Doo straightened up, blood dripping from his knuckles, and looked around at the remaining seven. They were starting to look nervous now, exchanging uneasy glances.

Three of them rushed him next, clearly hoping to overwhelm him with numbers. The first one swung a metal pipe at Doo's head, but Doo ducked just in time, the pipe whistling past his ear. He grabbed the guy's arm mid-swing, twisting it until the pipe clattered to the ground. Doo drove his fist into the guy's stomach, making him double over with a pained grunt, before bringing his knee up into the guy's face. Blood sprayed from his nose as he crumpled to the floor.

The second guy threw a punch, but Doo caught it, twisting the guy's arm behind his back and slamming him face-first into the wall. The guy groaned, blood smearing across the bricks as he slid down to the floor, unconscious.

The third guy tried to tackle Doo, but Doo sidestepped him with ease, grabbing the back of his head and slamming it into his knee. Blood gushed from the guy's nose as he staggered back, dazed. Doo didn't waste any time, delivering a brutal roundhouse kick to the guy's head, sending him crashing into the wall.

Four down, six to go.

Panting, Doo wiped the blood from his lips and looked around. The remaining guys were hesitating now, clearly unsure if they wanted to take their chances. But their leader—Bunhead—stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.

"You're dead," Bunhead growled, his voice low and dangerous. "No one lays a finger on my brother and gets away with it."

Doo smirked, blood and sweat dripping down his face. "Then come and do something about it."

Bunhead charged, fists swinging wildly. Doo barely dodged the first punch, feeling it graze his cheek. The second one caught him in the ribs, and pain exploded through his side. Gritting his teeth, Doo countered with a vicious punch to Bunhead's jaw, snapping his head to the side. Bunhead growled and swung again, catching Doo in the stomach. Doo doubled over, gasping for air, but he wasn't down yet.

With a furious snarl, Doo grabbed Bunhead by the shirt and drove his knee into the guy's gut. Bunhead let out a strangled gasp, but Doo wasn't done. He slammed his elbow into Bunhead's back, sending him crashing to the floor. But Bunhead wasn't like the others—he was tougher. He staggered to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth, and lunged at Doo again.

The two of them exchanged blows, fists and elbows flying. Doo's ribs were screaming in pain, his knuckles split open and bleeding, but he refused to back down. He dodged a wild punch from Bunhead and countered with a savage right hook, feeling Bunhead's jaw crack under his fist. Bunhead stumbled back, dazed, and Doo took his chance.

With a roar, Doo charged, tackling Bunhead to the ground. He mounted him, raining down punches with brutal fury. Each blow was harder than the last, his knuckles smashing into Bunhead's face, turning it into a bloody mess. Bunhead tried to fight back, but Doo's punches were relentless, brutal, until Bunhead's eyes rolled back in his head, and he went limp beneath him.

Doo staggered to his feet, panting, blood dripping from his fists. He glanced around at the remaining five, who were staring at him in horror. None of them moved.

"Come on," Doo growled, wiping the blood from his face. "You wanted to fight, didn't you?"

The five remaining upperclassmen exchanged nervous glances. One of them, a guy with a shaved head, stepped forward, fists raised. Doo rolled his eyes and cracked his neck.

Shaved Head charged, throwing a punch at Doo's face, but Doo caught it, twisting the guy's arm behind his back and slamming him into the wall. The guy groaned as his head bounced off the bricks, blood dripping from his nose. Doo grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed his face into the wall again, harder this time, until the guy slumped to the ground, unconscious.

The last four were frozen, their faces pale. Doo wiped the blood from his knuckles and grinned, his eyes wild. "Who's next?"

They didn't answer. Instead, they turned and ran, tripping over each other in their haste to get out of there. Doo watched them go, smirking as they disappeared around the corner.

He looked down at the bloodied, broken bodies littering the ground around him. Afro Guy was still unconscious, his nose a mangled mess. Bunhead wasn't moving, his face unrecognizable beneath the blood and bruises.

Doo cracked his knuckles, blood dripping from his split skin, and let out a breath.

Everyone's eyes were wide in shock—one guy had taken down eleven of the school's strongest, including their leader. Doo Lee stood there, his shirt and knuckles stained with blood, and a shiver ran down everyone's spine. The fight had been brutal, almost unnecessarily violent. Did it have to be this bad? The answer, for Doo, was an absolute yes.

Doo knew he wasn't talented in the traditional sense. He lacked the finesse and skill that some fighters had, but his body—trained, strong—was his only real advantage. In terms of technique, he was at the bottom. So, he did the only thing he could: he made the fight look brutal on purpose. It wasn't just about winning—it was about creating a spectacle. He acted like he barely broke a sweat, but inside, his body was screaming in pain, every muscle throbbing. His ribs ached, his knuckles were split wide open, and he knew he'd be feeling this fight for days. But none of that mattered because he had succeeded in what he wanted—to craft an image, one that was big enough to ensure no one would dare to mess with him again.

He ran a hand through his blood-matted hair, maintaining a cold expression despite the adrenaline wearing off, and he knew that any second now, his legs might give out. Still, he held his ground, refusing to show weakness in front of the crowd.

"This is why I don't fight," Doo muttered loudly, making sure everyone could hear him. "Fuckers always get blood on my clothes."

His voice was steady, even if his body was trembling under the surface. "Gangnam my ass. Girls in Seoul fight better than these wannabe delinquents."

The students watching gulped. He acted as though none of this mattered, like he hadn't just wiped the floor with the school's toughest fighters. It was all an act, one that solidified his reputation in an instant. He had created exactly what he needed—a terrifying image of someone you didn't want to cross.

Inside, though, Doo was hurting like hell. But no one needed to know that.

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The evening bell rang, snapping Doo Lee from a fitful sleep. He blinked groggily, memories of the morning's brutal fight flooding back. His body ached from head to toe; even the simplest movements felt like an uphill battle. He sat up slowly, trying to shake off the fog of exhaustion. As he looked around, he noticed that the classroom was already buzzing with activity. The teacher was at the front, giving a quick introduction, but Doo barely registered the words.

He plopped his head back down on his desk, thankful that no one bothered him on his first day of middle school. He didn't know what he was supposed to do; all he knew was that the thrum of pain in his muscles was a constant reminder of the chaos he had stirred up earlier.

After a few moments of staring blankly at his desk, he turned his head to the side and noticed everyone packing their bags. His gaze landed on the furthest back corner of the classroom, where Jin was. The kid was frantically avoiding Doo's eyes, a mix of fear and embarrassment plastered across his face.

Doo chuckled to himself, a smirk creeping across his lips. He loved the effect he had on Jin, and the memory of their earlier encounter gave him a rush of satisfaction.

Just then, he spotted a girl near the front of the class, erasing the board while standing on a chair. She was petite, with dark hair tied up in a neat bun, and seemed to be the only one genuinely focused on her task.

"I should go first," Doo mumbled to himself, instinctively rising to his feet. He started walking toward the door, but then it hit him: he hadn't brought any money today.

He turned back, glancing at the girl. "Hey, come on, let's go," he said, his voice carrying enough weight to grab everyone's attention.

She looked surprised but held her ground. "You should go first. I still have to clean the classroom."

Doo's irritation flared up. Great, here we go with the self-righteous act. He turned to Jin, the fatty he had wiped the floor with earlier. "Hey, fatty! Clean up the shit," he called out, a wicked grin forming on his face. It felt good to turn the tables, to bully the bully. Heaven, indeed.

"But—" she started to protest, but Doo cut her off.

"I'm gonna drag you from here," he declared, making his way toward the door.

As they walked outside to the bus stop, he glanced over at her. "You're not gonna ask anything?" he probed, looking ahead as they stepped onto the pavement.

She stayed silent for a moment, seemingly considering her words. Finally, she said, "You were holding back there. You fought only when you were forced to."

Doo raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised. At least she's not some righteous crybaby, he thought, a flicker of respect igniting in him. "What's your name?" he asked, genuinely curious now.

"Rachel Kim," she replied, her tone lighter than before.

"Rachel," Doo repeated, trying it out.